


Common Ground

by flugantamuso



Category: Good Omens - Gaiman & Pratchett
Genre: Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flugantamuso/pseuds/flugantamuso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was going to happen eventually.  Crowley breaks Aziraphale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Ground

Demons usually had one of two reactions to angels. Either they felt drawn to them or they detested them, but both reactions stemmed from a common source. Crowley’s fellow demons thought that he kept company with Aziraphale because he longed to return to the source of Aziraphale’s glory, and they despised him for it. What they didn’t know was that Crowley was not the one who was drawn, not the one who instigated their encounters, or the one who had suggested the arrangement.

At first he had not understood why he was being pursued by an angel, but gradually he came to realize that the draw that demons felt for angels could be reversed. Demons felt the loss of God, and it seemed that angels, or at least this one angel, felt the loss of his fellow angels, now fallen.

This knowledge was a significant weapon, and Crowley busily set out to exploit it.

At first he merely thought to find the same desire in other angels. If all angels had the same weakness then hell could use such a door to draw heaven down upon itself. But encounters with other angels proved unfruitful, and usually harmful, so Crowley returned his attention to Aziraphale.

It made him feel powerful, to be desired by an angel, but it wasn’t the sort of power that he could use to climb the hierarchy in hell. Demons were not pack animals, and as an individual predator, Crowley was unwilling to give up his prey.

This particular hunt had been ongoing for hundreds of years, and the angel showed no signs of faltering. No angel had fallen since before the fall of man, so it would be quite a coup for Crowley if Aziraphale fell. Nevertheless, he had grown used to events as they stood. He had a pattern, though he did not entirely understand it. To be pursuing something that was also pursuing him was a strange sort of game.

He was so set in this pattern that when Aziraphale stopped calling him or visiting him, he felt an uncomfortable absence. He was lazy enough that he didn’t investigate immediately, which was his first mistake.

**

***

**

There was no one in the shop, but there was a black circle burned into the floor. Crowley looked at it with foreboding. Aziraphale had been summoned home before, but there had always been forewarning. Aziraphale had always told him.

But there was nothing he could do. If Aziraphale returned then he would return, and if not--Crowley's heart clenched—then he would lose an enemy, and not the way he had been striving to.

It wasn’t until he was in the Bentley that he realized that it was a _black _circle, not the color of a gateway to heaven, but to hell. For a moment he sat with his hand on the wheel, then he lunged up, ripping at the door handle.

Before he could get the door open the Bentley’s radio flared to life with a hiss that Crowley knew had nothing to do with static.

**

***

**

When the twentieth century began, hell modernized. Castles were replaced with high glistening skyscrapers, robes with pinstriped suites, and lakes of fire with electric shock tables. Aziraphale had never seen the point to it all, as a demon in a tie and smile was just as likely to rip your intestines out with its claws. When told this, Crowley just smiled. He liked humanity, and he was happy to adopt some of their more ingenious inventions, but he never forgot that he was a _demon._

Usually, the familarity of hell’s new appearance made Crowley more relaxed. Today the mirror image only made him more apprehensive. On earth, businessmen would be meeting in a room lined with green silk, deciding the fates of companies and lives over cups of tea and coffee. In hell it was much the same, but the cups were filled with blood, or other things that Crowley had lost the taste for.

Aziraphale was seated at a polished mahogany table with an untouched cup in front of him. He looked as he always did, but Crowley wasn’t fooled. No one survived a conversation with Lucifer unscathed.

Speaking of Lucifer—

"How nice of you to join us, Crowley."

Lucifer may once have been the most beautiful angel, and there was no denying that he made a beautiful demon, at least when he wanted to be beautiful, but there was an aura in the way that he spoke and moved, of danger and power and poison. It was something that made his audience accutely aware of their own vulnerability, and Crowley was not immune to it. Hr kept his voice respectful as he replied.

"Lord." He should have had his eyes to the floor, but once, long ago, hell had been a democracy. It was this that kept his eyes up, watching Lucifer’s cold eyes and curling lips.

"Crowley." Without warning Lucifer was behind him, close enough that Crowley could feel hot breath on his neck. Involuntarily he twitched. It had been many centuries since he had been a subject or participant in one of Lucifer’s games.

"Crowley," he breathed, smelling of an expensive cologne with an undercurrent of sulfur, "I am very pleased with you."

It wasn’t meant to be reassuring. Lucifer’s pleasure, as Crowley had ample reason to know, could be as dangerous as his anger. He said nothing.

Lucifer was moving again, circling like a large predator that is so sure of its prey that it feels no need to expend energy on it. "You had been above for so long, and I had heard _such _rumors," his lips quirked in mock disapproval, "that I was beginning to doubt you." Abruptly a broad smile crossed his face, looking unnatural after the frown it had displaced. "But you were really preparing a gift for me, weren’t you?"

He had been circling closer and closer to Aziraphale’s chair, and now he stepped behind it, running his fingers along the angel’s jawline.

Aziraphale wisely said nothing, though he fixed his eyes on Crowley without expression.

"I," Crowley hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal Aziraphale’s weakness if he didn’t have to, though given Lucifer’s behavior he probably already knew. Knew and had chosen to take Crowley’s triumph as his own, as was his right. There was triumph here still, for Crowley was a demon, and Aziraphale’s fall would be something that all of hell would celebrate, but the inside of his mouth tasted of ash when he swallowed.

In the silence left after Crowley’s hesitation Lucifer spoke. "Don’t worry," he said, as though he had heard Crowley’s thoughts, "I’m not going to steal him from you." His voice soured slightly. "It seems that I am unable to."

Crowley blinked. This he didn’t understand.

Lucifer continued, walking back across the room to Crowley. "It seems that you are the only one for whom he has this particular….tendency." He smiled maliciously, and a sort of savage joy lit his eyes. "You can imagine my disappointment," Crowley felt hands settle on his hips as Lucifer returned to his previous position behind him, "but at least I can watch."

"Watch?" Crowley was still caught up in the revelation that had just been handed to him. _Only you._

"Of course." This time Lucifer’s voice was impatient, and Crowley winced at the feel of the fingers on his hips biting down as they momentarily turned to claws. "The time for your little cat and mouse game is over, Crowley. Now it’s time to claim your prize." Abruptly he spun away and settled on a leather couch against the wall.

Crowley bit back a growl as he considered his options. He knew what Lucifer expected of him, and it was not something that he was inexperienced in, but it was not going to be as easy as Lucifer seemed to expect that it would be. Aziraphale was not the mouse that Lucifer had named him.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and focused his mind. If he was going to do this then he would do it _his_ way. Abruptly the room changed, table disappearing, windows vanishing. Long candlesticks appeared on low pedestals and the air grew hot and heavy with a sweet smelling incence.

Aziraphale watched him with calm eyes, and Crowley desperately wished that Lucifer would leave so that they could speak like they would have on earth, but then, it was only Lucifer’s presence that was making this possible. On earth he would never have dared do to the angel what he was about to do; Aziraphale would not have endured it. Here he had no choice but to.

He began with a touch, a light touch to the angel’s folded hands, rubbing small circles, holding Aziraphale’s eyes with his own. And then he began to speak. He spoke of when he had first discovered the angel’s weakness for him, of his temptation to merely use it to kill, to end an immortal existence and win himself acclaim in hell. Aziraphale appeared unmoved, but Crowley could feel the pulse under his fingers begin to move faster than it should.

His task should be a good deal more difficult than it would be with a human, for whom physical reactions were involutary and involuntarily connected to emotional responses. An angel could only be seduced if he _wanted_ to be seduced. Ordinarily it would have been impossible to seduce an angel, but with this one, in this game, Crowley held the trump card. He felt a shudder of anticipation and knew that he could not lose.

Aziraphale seemed to know it too, for he took the next step by saying, "Why did you not kill me then, if it would have been so easy?"

From his couch Lucifer gave a little chortle of glee, but Aziraphale ignored him, looking unblinking into Crowley’s eyes, compelling him to answer. There was a world caught behind Aziraphale’s eyes, storms and colors, myriad creatures and lands, like a giant window of stained glass at daybreak. Crowley felt, as he had always felt when he got too close to his angelic companion, that he was in danger of being caught in those eyes, swept in and become part of that world.

He broke contact and let his eyes wander the length and breadth of Aziraphale’s body, lingering in places where he had never allowed himself to linger before, for fear of getting caught, and he spoke.

"It was never easy. You were dangerous when you wanted to be, when you were angered or offended, you still are, sometimes." He let a smile sit on his lips for a moment, the first smile since he had seen a dark circle on the floor of a small London bookstore. "But you were also different, not like any angel I had met since the fall."

Lucifer cleared his throat and Crowley straightened, wishing once again that he didn’t have an audience. This wasn’t something that could very well be rushed. Nevertheless he moved faster, let his hands rove farther and deeper, and he leaned in close and spoke so quietly that he knew Lucifer would not hear.

"We've had a good run of it, you and I," he whispered in Aziraphale's ear, "I'm sorry that it has to end this way."  And then he began to work in earnest.

Some things he knew already, like how sensitive Aziraphale's sides were, and some things he learned now, like how soft Aziraphale's hair was at the base of his neck.  He worked slowly, mapping every inch of skin, talking as he went about how good this felt, and how long he'd wanted to do it, and encounters in the past where he could have.

In the back of the room Lucifer shifted in boredom, but Crowley ignored him.  He understood, as Lucifer did not, that this was an intellectual seduction, a war fought with lips and tongue in conjunction with words, Aziraphale's greatest weakness.

He slipped off items of clothing one by one with no resistance, feeling a pang of anger at exposing Aziraphale so before Lucifer, though he felt nothing at exposing himself.  When they were both unclothed he pulled Aziraphale down with him to a couch.

Now he spoke about Heaven, about how young and empassioned he had been there, and how much it had hurt to fall.  He speculated about what would have happened if they had known each other before the fall.  He speculated about what would have happened if they had known each other before the fall, and ran his hands lingeringly and soothingly down Aziraphale's back, feeling him tremble with longing and horror.  He paused for a while and waited while Aziraphale thought, never taking his eyes from his angel's face, feeling incapable of doing so.

Finally Aziraphale sighed and took Crowley's face in both hands.  "I am sorry, my dear.  I have a weakness of heart, and I am afraid that it will cost you most of all."

Crowley spoke slowly and softly, not wanting to disturb Aziraphale's hands.  "How do you know that it's not strength?"

"Perhaps it is both," said Aziraphale and kissed him.  Many other kisses followed, and it was Crowley who trembled now as Aziraphale explored him and caressed him and warmed him with his love.

He moved to give the angel greater access to him and hissed when he was breached, fighting to keep his claws sheathed, but Aziraphale clasped their hands together and did not flinch at the blood that flowed between their palms.  Aziraphale pushed and Crowley pushed back and then flew apart when Aziraphale kissed him.  His relaxed muscles let the angel push deeper and it wasn't long before he too was coming, throwing back his head and grimacing in ecstacy.

Crowley could see the exact second when the change came upon him.  His eyes became darker, his mouth harder.  Claws sprouted from his fingertips, causing Crowley to wince below him, and when he looked down at Crowley it was with demonic disdain and glee, with not a trace of love.

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so there was the sound of slow clapping from behind them.

Aziraphale looked up and smiled at Lucifer, who had divested himself of clothing at some point and sat with his legs apart, sporting a very formidable and familar length.  He stopped clapping and stroked himself with one hand, laying the other on his thigh.  "Come here, child."

Aziraphale slipped out of Crowley, slid ot his knees on the floor and crawled over to Lucifer.

Crowley watched as Lucifer guided Aziraphale's mouth down, his stomach churning.

Lucifer met his eyes and smiled with cheerful malice.  "Care to join us, Crowley?"

He looked away and was surprised to feel that his eyes were wet.  How ridiculous.  He'd known what would happen, known it centuries ago when he began this.  And yet he was weeping as he'd never wept before.  He turned his head to the wall, and eventually he slept.

***

He woke to the feeling of hands combing through his hair, and something soft and warm under his head.  He opened his eyes and saw blue sky, and knew that he was no longer in hell.

"No," said a voice above him, "you're on earth."

He tilted his head back and saw an upside down Adam, older than Crowley had last seen him (though, of course, it had been a few years since he and Aziraphale had driven to Lower Tadfield), but just as beautiful.

He was lying on green grass with his head in Adam's lap.  For a moment it was peaceful, and then he remembered why he had last been in hell and tensed in distress.  Adam started to make soothing noises and a wave of relaxation ran from the top of his head to his toes.  It made him limp, but the thought of what had still happened was still in his head.

Still there, but as Adam had said, this was earth, and more importantly, this was _Adam_.

"No," said Adam, as if in response to his thoughts, "I can’t change it, Crowley. It can’t be changed, it’s done."  
_  
Done._ Crowley wanted to hiss and claw and curl up in a ball, wanted to avoid all the anger and misery that he felt, but he was too tired and languid from Adam’s influence to do anything but lay still and cry quietly.

Adam let him cry, petting his head and laying quiet kisses on his hair.

Eventually he sat up, feeling slightly dizzy, but also embarrassed and defensive. Demons were not supposed to cry.

"What are you going to do?" Asked Adam, from behind him.

He didn’t turn around, looking forward bleakly at the perfect scenery. Lower Tadfield might be lovely, but the excitement of living on earth had grown thin. But where else was there to go? Hell was out of the question at the moment, and heaven’s gates were barred to him, even if he had wanted to return there. Perhaps he would linger on the bridge with Chaos, there to go quietly insane. Not an appealing choice, but none of them were.

"I don’t know," he admitted.

There was movement behind him and then hands on his chin, turning his jaw so that he could see Adam, all brightness and intensity. "You have to go back to him."

"Go back to him?" he said helplessly, "Adam, there’s no one to go back to, he’s a _demon_."

"So are you," said Adam with a hint of amusement.

"It’s different," said Crowley stubbornly, and it was, because the creature who inhabited Aziraphale’s body now was a stranger, a stranger who had all of Aziraphale’s memories, knew all of Crowley’s weaknesses, and who would not hesitate to use them against him.

"No, it’s not," said Adam sharply, "it’s still _Aziraphale_, Crowley. You weren’t afraid of him before."

Crowley wanted to say that there were valid reasons to be afraid of Aziraphale now, but how could he tell this child that? How could he admit that the thought of the inevitable rejection that he faced filled him with dread?

Adam sighed and finally let him go, dropping his hands to his sides. "You have to be the strong one here, Crowley, because Aziraphale can’t. You have to go back to him, and survive him, and love him, because it’s the only chance he’s got, and maybe the only chance that you’ve got as well."

Crowley thought of Chaos again and had to agree. What had he become that he would wish for such a thing? He stood up and looked down at Adam, sitting quietly on the grass, and put his hand on the golden head. He would return to hell, to Aziraphale, and he would prevail.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The reference to Hell as a democracy is from Milton's Paradise Lost, as is that to Chaos, which is an actual character in PL, through which Satan built the bridge between Hell and Earth.


End file.
